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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23186641">Do You Remember Love? マクロス</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/slexenskee/pseuds/slex'>slex (slexenskee)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Overworld #3 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:42:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,052</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23186641</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/slexenskee/pseuds/slex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Yebisu-verse shorts to get you through coronavirus isolation</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Voldemort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Overworld #3 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574209</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Do You Remember Love? マクロス</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Random shorts I'm trying to update daily (don't hold me at gunpoint here) set in the Yebisu-verse. </p><p>Have a prompt you want filled? Leave a comment or cut to the front of the line and find me on twitter at slexenskee ~</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Kaoru Akimoto’s Dress Down is iconic city pop at it’s finest. As far as future funk remixes go, I’m partial to yungbae’s Selfish High Heels. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>1.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did we know this woman? Like, am I supposed to be sad or something?” Aster asks, seriously, as she turns around and leans over the bench.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Louis gives a half shrug, looking around the church furtively as if he expects someone to reprimand them for speaking. “No, well, yes. She’s someone’s great Aunt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The old bat was archaic long before we were born,” Victoire folds her arms as she collapses back into her seat beside Aster, finally pulled away from the somber Weasley party at the forefront. She makes a sad noise when she looks down to find she’s wrinkled her dress, and hastens to smooth it out. “I can’t even remember her name,” Victoire laments, in her soft french accent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s Great Great </span>
  <em>
    <span>Great</span>
  </em>
  <span> Aunt Muriel.” Ceph reveals, without looking up from the bible he’s perusing. Trust Cepheus to find something academically interesting to him in a place as profoundly boring as a church. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A lot of people showed up for Great Great Great Aunt Muriel,” Aster comments, impressed. The Service won’t start for another quarter of an hour and the large church is already looking a bit full. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A lot of people showed up for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Teddy corrects, taking Victoire’s left. “They were thinking about making this invite only, you know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aster blinks. “Huh— no kidding.” The thought hadn’t even occurred to her, but it makes sense now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aster is not terribly surprised, mainly because she was born into this circus of fame and infamy to the point it’s become a regular part of life. Louis makes a disgusted sound. “This is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>funeral</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He proclaims, with disgust. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re a very famous family,” Victoire points out, calmly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Funerals are creepy.” Saiph glowers, as he slinks his way towards them, clearly escaping from the bustling throngs up front. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He burrows in beside Cepheus, who merely lifts his arm for his little brother to squeeze under. He is wholly engrossed in the copy of the bible he’d plucked off the pocket behind the pew in front of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you even reading that?” Aster guffaws, disturbed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a historical artifact,” Cepheus explains. “The most prolific and well-known historical literature in the history of the human race. In light of that, it’s quite fascinating.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you say so.” Aster says, skeptically. “It seems like a bunch of sycophantic preaching to me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The hymns are annoying.” Victoire agrees. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Merde</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they’re not going to make me sing, are they?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is there anyone else in this family who can sing?” Louis asks, seriously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Victoire glances over to Asterope with a narrow eyed look. Aster grins back churlishly. They’re both clearly remembering just last week when they found themselves at a crowded karaoke bar in k-town and Aster’s rendition of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Copacabana</span>
  </em>
  <span> stole the show straight from underneath Victoire’s admittedly impressive Sade tribute. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Saiph ignores all of them, his attention still focused on the front altar and the crowd gathered round. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grandma Molly is crying profusely, but everyone else seems to be ambivalent towards the death— his father most especially. The Dark Lord is still and expressionless as he stands by Harry, who is attempting to console Grandma Molly. A crowd of people have come to offer their condolences, none of whom look even remotely familiar to Saiph, and Harry ends up having to be the one to deal with all the well wishers when Grandpa Arthur drags Grandma Molly away so she can recover herself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s both relieving and yet disheartening to see his parents standing together; they’re so close they’re almost touching, and his father has a hand at the small of Harry’s back. But it doesn’t look fond or intimate in the least. If anything, the whole scene looks rather perfunctory. His father isn’t smiling, which isn’t much of a surprise, but he’s also not staring down at Harry fondly, as he usually does. And Harry isn’t even looking at him. In fact, he seems to be doing his level best to ignore everything about his father, even going so far as to actually socialize with the masses, something Harry utterly loathes and regularly goes far out of his way to avoid. Usually he makes Aunt Hermione deal with it, but Aunt Mione is as swamped as Harry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Saiph looks away, frowning deeply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing’s changed, then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ceph lays a large, warm hand atop his head. “Don’t worry about it, Sai,” he says, and when Saiph turns to look at him the older boy hasn’t even looked up from his book.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But…” He tries to protest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know it’s not easy,” Ceph continues, voice low. “But you have to let them work this out on their own time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just don’t get it,” Saiph furrows his brow. “What’s going on? Why are they always fighting?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cepheus looks mildly uncomfortable, even going as far as to shut his book. “They just… have a lot on their minds right now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As if that wasn’t the most evasive answer ever. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Saiph glowered out at the scene in front of him, not really seeing any of it. Everyone starts to take their seats as the organ picks up, including his parents. They’re up in the first few rows, his father seated by Aunt Hermione and Harry beside him, conversing quietly with Uncle Fred. They’re sitting fairly close, in the way most married couples tend to do, but even from here Saiph can see a damning amount of distance. Harry is very affectionate; it’s not unusual to find him all but plastered to his father’s side, snuggling on his shoulder. The distance is quite telling, to anyone who knows them well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fortunately most of the church is full of people who </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t, </span>
  </em>
  <span>so this farce of intimacy should get the job done as far as the papers are concerned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some sort of hymnal starts up. Aster makes a vague attempt to hide her yawn and fails miserably. Victoire is picking at her nails. Saiph doesn’t think a single one of his cousins is paying an ounce of attention. In their defense, neither is Sai. He’s just too preoccupied with his parents. It’s the first time he’s seen them together in what feels like forever, and it still feels like they may as well be galaxies apart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>//</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he comes to, he’s in a room that feels vaguely familiar. He blinks a few times; his vision clears. He realizes that the big splotch of color in front of him is actually a poster of his Aunt, head of the Holyhead Harpies, waving charismatically on her broom as she flies around. When he turns his head, he sees rows of trophies lining the walls, and knows exactly where he is. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ostensibly all the rooms at the Burrow are now more or less guest rooms, but they all still bear the hallmark of their original owners. This is most definitely his Aunt Ginny’s room, a haphazard collection of forest green and yellow, with posters and trophies lining the walls. Usually his sisters share this room with Victoire and Dominique, so he doesn’t spend much time in it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s confused as to why he’s even here now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t remember how he got here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Sai, you’re awake!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns at the voice. It’s his Aunt Ginny in the flesh, looking an awful lot like the moving poster of herself above them. She sets the magazine she’d been perusing aside, and reaches out to pat his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sit tight Sai, I’m going to go get Harry.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, but—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>However, his aunt is already out the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighs, falling back against the headboard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Memories flood back to him. That’s right. He’d started feeling quite ill sometime after they’d brought out the casket, and had ducked down a side path in search of some fresh air and quiet. He has hazy, distorted memories of standing in front of a grave of some kind, of his father’s voice, and then nothing but darkness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry comes in a few minutes later, looking exhausted. Harry hates crowds on the best of days, so it’s not exactly surprising. That said, Sai is sure he has a lot to do with the slightly reddened rim around his eyes, and the haggard expression. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Sai says, immediately. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If anything, that seems to make things worse. Harry’s expression crumples. “Oh, Sai.” He rushes over and envelops him in a tight— almost too tight— hud. “What in Merlin’s name are you apologizing for?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sai just shrugs. He knows it’s not his fault, exactly, but all the same he is the root cause of all his parent’s worry. Every time he has a spell of confusion and disorientation it makes his Mum cry and his Dad storm off in a cloud of anger. He can’t imagine just how catastrophic their reaction was to his sudden collapse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m feeling fine now, promise.” It’s what he always says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry holds him close, petting his hair. “You don’t have to lie, darling. Here, why don’t you try drinking this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a pepperup potion and a cup of hot water and lemon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where’s father?” He asks, after he’s downed the potion and he’s making a solid dent into the water. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry looks mildly uncomfortable. “He, well, had some business he needed to take care of. But your siblings and your cousins are all downstairs.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Saiph looks down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While it’s perfectly in character for his father to ignore a death in the family in favor of his work, he has a feeling there’s more to the story than that. He’s not ignorant to the fact that his parents seem uncomfortable around each other whenever he has problems like this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did I ruin the whole funeral?” He asks, in a small voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry chokes on a laugh. “Hardly. You might have even saved it, really.” He reaches out to brush back Saiph’s unruly hair. “Your father was about to do something drastic to get out of there, like maybe light the church on fire. You know how he is— there’s only so much he’s willing to concede in the name of social niceties for his public image, and we passed that point about ten minutes into the sermon— he was just waiting for an excuse to get out of there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Saiph nods along. He’s sure that’s true as well, but again, not entirely the whole truth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why was he so mad, then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He wasn’t mad.” Harry insists.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Saiph nudges the lemon in his tea cup.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry sighs. “He’s not mad at </span>
  <em>
    <span>you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>sweetheart. He’s just frustrated.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“At me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“At himself.” Harry corrects. “He hates that he doesn’t have an answer for your health problems. He hates that he can’t help you, and it frustrates him to be so helpless.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not his fault!” Saiph cries. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Of course not, but it makes him worry nonetheless.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Saiph doesn’t know what to say. He hates to make them worry all the time. He hates being so different. The rest of his siblings are so normal, why is he the only one like this? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I want to sleep more,” Saiph says, suddenly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you still feeling unwell? Should I call a healer?” Harry asks, worried.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sai shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. Just tired.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry looks conflicted, biting his lip. “Well, if you’re certain.” He concedes, but doesn’t look happy about it. “I’m right downstairs if you need anything, alright? We won’t stay for much longer, there’s just a few more people I need to speak to.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Saiph nods. He understands Harry has a greater obligation to the world at large. And right now, he’d rather just be alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With one last rub of his hair, his Mum is gone with the soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>click </span>
  </em>
  <span>of Aunt Ginny’s door. It’s the only room in the entire house that actually has a door that shuts properly and locks well enough. Saiph could walk up and lock it, but it seems too exhausting a task right now. Harry will probably tell everyone he’s resting, so hopefully that’ll stop his more curious cousins from bothering him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a sigh he flops back onto the bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Why couldn’t he be normal, for once? </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Have a prompt you want filled? Leave a comment or cut to the front of the line and find me on twitter at slexenskee ~</p></blockquote></div></div>
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